


Rides

by Mari_Sinpai



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, First Person, M/M, motorcycle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 04:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12161400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Sinpai/pseuds/Mari_Sinpai
Summary: I remember it as the day of yesterday. That day when he almost scooped me off of my feet, onto his motorcycle and showed me the roads of Barcelona. It was like the day of yesterday, the day he showed me that gorgeous park in one of the biggest cities of Spain, merely to tell me he had been watching me. I remember how I felt that time, creeped out and yet intrigued by the idea of meeting someone new, someone as strange as him.(Alternate title: Mari had no wifi on the train and what's better than crying in public amirite?)





	Rides

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> (Unbeta'd, I'm sorry for that too)

I remember it as the day of yesterday. That day when he almost scooped me off of my feet, onto his motorcycle and showed me the roads of Barcelona. It was like the day of yesterday, the day he showed me that gorgeous park in one of the biggest cities of Spain, merely to tell me he had been watching me. I remember how I felt that time, creeped out and yet intrigued by the idea of meeting someone new, someone as strange as him.

Our friendship developed quickly. It was only a matter of time for us both to get close, to get to know each other. My thoughts stayed unspoken words, yet readable for him, and the other way around. Going back to that time, I remember the look on his face when he noticed it was me on the other side of that club. Everyone kept telling me he was unreadable, unpredictable. Still, I managed to read every little expression on his face. That day we realized we were made for each other.

Later, way later, around my sixteenth birthday, he visited. Not just visiting, no, he drove all the way from Almaty to Moscow, simply to make sure I'd be able to sit on the back of his bike. Once again, unspoken words became spoken just by the look on our faces, just by our presence. We knew, we both knew so, so very well how we felt, but words weren't necessary.

On the back of his bike, the simplicity of arms around his waist and my face against his back were enough to tell him how much I needed him near me, how much I wanted him to stay in my life. It was also that specific right, three days after my birthday, that he decided to kiss me and seal the deal to stay with me. We never talked about it, never gave it a name, but we knew we loved each other.

Weeks, months later, the autumn of my seventeenth year, he nearly turned twenty. Almost twenty years old, and to his idea, old enough to this time move to another place for the sole reason of being with someone. I remember how he told me he had never expected a thing like that, how he never foresaw himself being in a relationship with someone as beautiful as me and how those words moved me, sounded so unreal. I remember crying the day he arrived at the airport of Moscow and how we both traveled to his newly bought apartment not too far from the city.

That was also the first time I didn't sleep at what I used to call home, and truthfully, that was also the day I found a new home. That apartment, with just one bed and bathroom, a small but cozy living room, usually dark and warm, a lovely place I would easily go back to if I could. The apartment, which luckily had a garage for his motorcycle was what blessed us with a life full of love, full of possibilities. I remember telling him that the biggest possibility we had was that we could drive around town with his bike every night before we went to sleep.

And so we did. He took my words to heart, even though I was simply joking, but from that day on not a single night went by where we didn't drive his bike into the darkness of the night, usually to the point of me being too tired to stay awake. It was like a lullaby, the buzzing of the engine, the trembling of the seat underneath me. If I could choose, I'd rather sit on that bike than stay in bed all day.

Of course staying in bed all day was a thing we did. There were days where we decided to stay in that small, warm and smelly room from morning to night, simply to fall asleep again, though the day after, we'd both have the feeling of missing the wind in our face and the stinging of our hands from the Russian cold.

It was the winter right after his twenty-first birthday where we both decided it was time for me to learn how to drive a motorcycle too. I was eighteen, almost nineteen, and simply declined. It was no use. Sure, driving myself would've been convenient, but it was sitting being him, with my hands in his pockets and my knees against his legs that made the ride so beautiful.

Those rides were beautiful.

These moments, every single ride we had, hundreds of them, not once had I seen the danger. Not one night did I ask myself whether something could go wrong. Never did we mention, even. It was just us and the bike, the road, and our yet unknown destination for that ride. Not once had I expected a ride, as careful as he was, to turn into a hell like this. We loved that bike, we loved the road, we

We loved each other, just each other's company, just being close to each other while doing something we both loved. We loved each other more than anything, and yet that what we both loved ended up breaking us apart.

Today was the day we officially started living together, five years ago. I'm almost twenty-two now, around the same age as he was when it happened. Not a single day has passed by where I don't think of him, think of how he would sit in front of me, driving the similar vehicle I used to get home today. The vehicle I drive now, to live the memories we have.

Not a single day has passed by where I don't cry, where I don't miss him this dearly, and where I wished he was still next to me as I write this. Though I also realize that if he was, there was no way I would be writing this.

Because the sole reason I'm writing this is that I once again, even if it's just once, I want to tell him how much I love him, how much I miss him, how much I need him. How much tears have stained this letter and that there will be much more.

Because Otabek, Beka, not a single day has passed where I stopped loving you.

I love you.

Yura.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to smack me in the face, come do so @ [Tumblr](mari-sinpai.tumblr.com) too. I know I deserve it for using Otabek's motorcycle like this.


End file.
